


An Immodest Proposal

by mugi_says_eep



Series: Finding a Balance [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternative Family Structures, M/M, Multi, OTP +/- 1, Same-Sex Marriage, Threesome - M/M/F, but I still couldn't help myself, higher rating and additional tags for chapter 3, they're all 30-something, they're being all rational and sophisticated about this, this is now VERY DEFINITELY a bad idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugi_says_eep/pseuds/mugi_says_eep
Summary: “But that’s deviant, Agatha!”“And being in a same-sex marriage with a vampire is so bloody traditional! Really, Simon! It’s the twenty-first century. I’d think you’d have a more open mind about alternative family structures.”Or“Destiny” is a load of bollocks. But where there’s space for a few creative work-arounds, “meant to be” might not be so bad.





	1. Agatha Argues Her Case

**Chapter 1: Agatha Argues Her Case**  

 

**Baz**

 

The three of us are drinking wine in the sitting room of our flat. Simon and I are together on the couch, and Agatha is across from us in the big stuffed chair. It’s gotten quite late, and we’ve had rather a lot to drink when Agatha suddenly pinks up prettily and hits us with _the proposal_.

 

“So I’ve decided that I’d quite like to be the mother of your children.”

 

* * *

 

**Agatha**

 

Baz sneers at me. “You’ve decided!?! Without bothering to inquire whether Simon and I might not have an opinion on something like this? That’s idiotic! Not to mention insane!”

 

“Oh, stop, will you! Need I remind you that you two glorious idiots spent the better part of a decade making grand plans for me and my life without ever once asking me what I thought. I’m just returning the favor!”

 

* * *

 

**Simon**

 

Baz sighs. “For Crowley’s sake, Wellbelove, give it up. We’re gay!”

 

“Speak for yourself, Baz,” I breathe. “I’m technically bisexual.”

 

“Not helping, Simon!” he hisses back.

 

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Basil, plenty of gay men have fathered children . . . with women. There would hardly be a British aristocracy if that weren’t the case!”

 

“And what exactly am I supposed to be doing while Baz is busy fathering children on you?” I wonder out loud.

 

“Fathering children on me right along side him, of course!”

 

Baz’s eyes go wide. “Hold on. Are you seriously suggesting we have . . . a threesome?”

 

Agatha huffs in exasperation. “Well, I thought that was rather implied when I offered to be the mother of your children. _Yours_ . . . as in _both_ of you. So it seems rather more efficient to do it all in one go.”

 

Baz’s eyebrows are up near his hairline. I know I look completely gobsmacked.

 

“But that’s deviant, Agatha!”

 

“And being in a same-sex marriage with a vampire is so bloody traditional! Really, Simon! It’s the twenty-first century. I’d think you’d have a more open mind about alternative family structures.”

 

* * *

 

**Baz**

 

“Wellbelove, let me repeat . . . I’m gay. As in, I’m not sexually attracted to women. I think I’ve been perfectly clear on that fact for the past fifteen years or so.”

 

Agatha wrinkles her nose. “I really don’t see what the problem is. Simon can get you started. I just need to be there to “catch” when the time comes . . .”

 

“You’re seriously suggesting that Simon and I let you watch while we fuck . . .?!?”

“Yes, that’s the general idea. But I suppose if you’re really that squeamish, we could always fall back on the turkey baster option. Although I did read somewhere that conception spells work best with direct contact . . .”

 

“Not to mention when there’s actually love involved,” I huff.

 

“You know I adore you both, and the two of you love each other. That’s plenty of love to be getting on with!”

 

* * *

 

**Agatha**

 

“Just to be clear--this wouldn’t be like it was at Watford. I have absolutely _zero_ interest in having a “romantic” relationship with either one of you. And certainly not with the both of you at the same time. What a nightmare! But the facts of the matter are that the two of you prefer each other, and I prefer Normal men. But I’m at the age now where I want children . . . magickal children. And I can’t have that with a Normal partner.”

 

Baz raises an eyebrow and scoffs, “So really, this is all about you and your biological clock. How bloody typical of you, Wellbelove!”

 

* * *

 

**Simon**

 

Agatha is working herself up into a rant. “Think about this logically, if you can. You are two of the strongest mages of our generation, if not THE strongest. How can you let all that future potential go to waste?”

 

“But I don’t even have my own magic anymore . . .”

 

“You’re still a mage, Simon. One of the strongest that’s ever lived. And look at Davy. He was so strong . . .”

 

“Can we _please_ not talk about the Mage. I don’t see how he’s even relevant.”

 

“Of course he’s relevant. We’re talking about bloodlines here. The Mage, Lucy, Lady Salisbury. Magic is in your DNA. And Baz is the Pitch Heir. Magickal blood doesn’t get any bluer than that!”

 

Baz sputters, “For Crowley’s sake, Wellbelove. Don’t confuse this with horse breeding. Simon and I are not a pair of stallions standing at stud!’

 

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s exactly like horse breeding. That’s how it’s always worked. Especially in the Old Families. Marry the best and the the beautiful off to one another. And then badger them until they produce the next generation. We, at least, are free from the burden of having to get married.”

 

“What about being free from the burden of reproducing?” Baz mutters.

 

“If this were just about money or property or titles, that would be one thing. But this is about magic!”

 

* * *

 

**Baz**

 

Agatha has worked herself up into a full lather. “And what _about_ the two of you? You both have have responsibilities to produce heirs. Don’t look like that, SImon Salisbury Snow. You’re part of the Old Families now, too. This applies to you just as much as it does to Baz . . . Explain it to him, Basil, will you please!”

 

And then she delivers the _coup de grace_.

 

“And just think about what beautiful babies the three of us would have!”

 

Agatha gives us her most winsome smile, like she already knows she’s won . . . Crowley!

 


	2. Thinking It Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the justification . . .

**Chapter 2: Thinking It Through**

 

**Simon**

 

The thing is, Baz and I have actually talked once or twice about children. But seeing as we’re a pair of blokes, the conversation comes around to the topic of surrogate mums right quick, and that’s where it stalls. You see, there just aren’t surrogates in the Magickal World. Magic is too precious.

 

So when Agatha came round and started going on about being “the mother of our children” (and having a threesome, for snakes’ sake!!), I was shocked . . . but then I was sort of chuffed.

 

I mean, Agatha is actually the one woman I’ve ever thought about having kids with. And I know Baz has thought about it. At least enough to taunt me about him marrying Agatha and having a bunch of kids and naming them all Simon just to get under my skin.

 

And I love Agatha. I always have. But I’m not “in love” with her. I don’t think I ever really was. I just didn’t know what “in love” felt like until I realized I was in love with Baz. And now that I know that, and know that Baz is in love with me, I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.

 

On the other hand, I think I’d be a good dad. And I think it would be deeply healing to be able to be there for a child, my child, in all the ways that my parents could never be there for me. My mum because she died and my dad because he was insane.

 

So the real question is . . . is this something we can do without things getting weird and without it knocking down all the good that Baz and I have worked to build together?

 

* * *

 

**Baz**

 

The thing of it is, I’d thought about this, or something like it. Marry Wellbelove, or someone just like her, give her the keys to whatever she wants keys to. And Agatha, true to type, wants LOTS of keys. Flat in London. House (or houses?) in the country, Range Rover. A stable, plus Merlin knows how many horses to put in it. Membership at the club. And school fees. And lessons. And a spending allowance. And that’s probably just the tip of the iceberg.

 

But Simon and I can afford that. We both have good jobs. And we both have family money, now that Simon is officially a Salisbury.

 

But, and here’s the thing--where before I thought I’d be locked into a false, loveless marriage, where she was free to pop out little Pitches with whomever took her fancy while I chased after Simon look-alikes so I could break their hearts--this _proposal_ . . . is not _that_. It’s actually a scenario beyond my wildest imaginings.

 

Instead of _that_ , I’m married to Simon, the love of my life, my lifelong obsession. I’m happy and living a life of my own choosing. Simon is mine. And I am his. I don’t doubt that anymore. We’ve been through too much together. And not just all the trauma with the Humdrum and the Mage. Life. Living. School and jobs. Setting up house together. Getting married. We’re solid, solidified, a unit.

 

And Agatha wants children, but she doesn’t want to be tied down to a traditional Mage marriage. Which I can understand. There’s no divorce in the World of Mages. Especially in the Old Families. It’s too hard to undo all the binding rituals, on top of all the Normal legal mess. Agatha doesn’t even like the Magickal World. But she has magic, and she feels the call to pass it along to the next generation, the same way I do.

 

And she has a point. It _is_ the twenty-first century. It’s not like you need to be married to produce heirs. In the Normal world, it’s not even an issue. All it takes is paperwork and a paternity test.

 

It’s never really been an issue in the Magickal World either. Power is its own legitimacy. Look at Simon. The Mage wasn’t officially married to Lucy. Lady Salisbury would never have allowed it. But no one disputes Simon’s parentage, now that we know what it is.

 

And I can’t deny that the responsibility weighs on me. To keep the Pitch line alive. Fiona’s not going to do it. She’s still a mess from losing Nicky all those years ago. Plus, she’d be a crap mother. So I feel like I owe it to my family. To my mother’s memory. I feel it more every year that passes.

 

And then there’s Simon. He’s a fucking peer, for Crowley’s sake, or he will be once his wastrel uncle finally succumbs to liver failure. Simon doesn’t really get what that means right now. But I suspect he will in time.

 

So do I want this? Yes. I think I do. But can I go through with it? That’s the real question.

 

The thought of sleeping with a woman still turns my stomach. But the rest of it? Not so much. Maybe _because_ it’s Agatha. The one woman I’ve ever thought about actually having children with.

 

She’s from an impeccable family. And she’s still gorgeous. That’s one thing that you can say for all that horse rubbish. It keeps our women looking fit. Agatha should bounce back from childbearing with her figure intact. Daphne did, and she’s had four.

 

I know Agatha would be an exceptional mother. And I truly like the woman she’s become. She’s independent. She speaks her mind. She doesn’t give a shit about tradition, or at least not the parts that keep us trapped. Keep us from being ourselves.

 

And I think Simon really wants to be a father. To make up for all the bollocks that he went through growing up. To atone for the sins of his own father. (And for killing him, too, I suppose.) To raise a child that is loved and cherished and whole. To make something right and good.

 

And maybe I want that, too. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I don’t want to be a father. That’s a perfectly natural human instinct. And I am human. I believe that now. Simon’s taught me that.

 

So could I actually go through with it? Probably not, if I were still on my own. But together, with Simon, maybe. (What was that Simon kept saying to Agatha? “Package deal or no deal!” Twit.)

 

And I’m not even talking about the actual “fathering” part. But the raising a child. Showing up for birthdays and Sunday dinner. Going on family holidays. Attending school plays and dance recitals and football matches. And all those tiresome equestrian events. With Simon . . . And Agatha . . . as a threesome. Crowley, what a horror show that will be.

 

Because I can’t delude myself into thinking that Agatha won’t be in our lives, if we do this. Our children. Our children’s mother. It’s not a marriage, so I’m bloody well not going to insist we divide up their time like we have some sort of joint custody divorce settlement.

 

So Agatha in our lives. In my life. In Simon’s life. She swears she has no intention or desire to come between us. She says her romantic interests lie elsewhere. And I believe her.

 

Could I accept her consorting with Normal men in her free time? Yes, it’s only fair. She deserves to have a full life. And I can’t give her that. And if we know her needs are being met, Simon won’t feel as if he needs to make it up to her somehow. (Not that I’d let him. The git.)

 

I do trust her to be discrete. And Crowley knows she won’t risk a pregnancy. That’s the whole point of this insane proposal. Having a Normal man’s child would defeat the purpose.

 

And Merlin, we _would_ have beautiful babies. The most beautiful babies in all of Magic. Trust Agatha to cut straight to it and appeal directly to my vanity, the minx. And I used to think it was Simon who always went for the kill shot!

 

Aleister Crowley. I think I might actually be able to do this . . .

 

* * *

 

**Simon**

 

We haven’t talked about it since that night. The night Agatha made her proposal. Baz and I agreed that we would give each other a week to think about it, and then decide together what we want to do.

 

But I think I may already know. It’s little things, especially over the past day or so. Small smiles. Thoughtful looks. A slightly distracted air, instead of his usual laser-like intensity.

 

Do I want this? Yeah, I do. And if Baz wants it, too . . . Merlin!

 


	3. And so . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the tags say, this is probably a very bad idea. But I went ahead and did it anyway.

**Chapter 3: And so . . .**

 

******Agatha**

 

Another night . . .

 

The text I sent to Simon this afternoon said: _It’s tonight. Grab Baz and a bottle wine. Be here at half eight. Wear something comfortable. I’ll have snacks._

 

When I open the door, it’s clear that they both have a glass or three of wine in them already. Simon wraps me in a boozy hug, while Baz pecks me on the cheek but doesn’t make eye contact. I can feel the nerves rolling off both of them in waves.

 

An hour or so later, we’re all pleasantly drunk, and the two of them are snogging energetically on my couch. There’s a lot of teeth and barely-contained aggression and pushing back and forth for dominance. It’s dead sexy. I never understood before how they went from thrashing one another to shagging, like someone flipped a switch. But I’m starting to get it now.

 

They come up for air, panting, and I take the opportunity to shift them into the bedroom while Baz is too wrapped up in pulling Simon’s hair to be a flight risk. (I’d caught him eyeing the door earlier, so it’s a legitimate concern.)

 

Once we get to the bedroom, they strip down and start shagging in earnest . . . Morgan le Fay! It’s like the Baz and Simon show all over again--now in the R18 version.

 

Penny told me they had already started sharing magic before everything went to shit over Christmas of our eighth year. That shouldn’t even be _possible_. But a lot of the things that Baz and Simon have got up to over the years shouldn’t be possible. And yet, here they are. Maybe that’s why I like them so much . . .

 

Even without magic of his own, Simon is still an amazingly powerful conduit and amplifier. He’s drawing magic off of Baz as he plows into him, and they are passing the magic back and forth between them as they fuck. I watch it rippling across their skin as they move together.

 

It crosses my mind that I should be frightened. But it’s intoxicating. As the magic pours off them, I’ve got that dizzy feeling we all used to get around Simon at school, when his magic would get the better of him. But I feel a difference, too, which has to be Baz’s influence. There’s control there and nuance. Things that Simon never possessed on his own.

 

It’s a big bed, and I’m off to one side watching, giddily. I can’t pretend that I didn’t fantasize about this when we were younger. Well, not _this_. . . but what it would be like to be with both of them . . . each of them . . . not at the same time, obviously. That possibility was completely outside the realm of my wildest imaginings back then.

 

They are amazingly flexible and surprisingly loud together. (I hope my neighbors don’t complain.) Baz is currently on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his head thrown back. Simon’s behind him, giving him, from the sound of it, the best prostate massage of his life.

 

Simon looks up from mauling the soft spot between Baz’s neck and shoulder, gives me a quick grin, and mouths “budge over” without breaking rhythm.

 

I move over next to them, pulling up my shift a bit, and start to cast the conception spell the three of us have worked out together.

 

Once I’m set, Simon hauls Baz up on all fours, with one arm around his torso like a steel band and the other down between his legs. And he somehow manages to shove Baz over me and into position, all the while not breaking their connection. Did I mention that these boys are extremely flexible? Merry Morgana.

 

Then Baz is there, holding himself above me on one elbow and resting his forehead lightly against mine, as he starts casting along with me.

 

Penny also told me once that Baz’s magic felt like a grease burn and Simon’s magic felt like a jolt of white-hot lightning. And this isn’t _that_ , exactly. But it’s hot and tingly and intense. So hot . . . in both senses.

 

Baz starts to move and Simon is moving with him (causing him to move. . . maybe?) The magic we’re generating is starting to swirl around the room. I can’t see much of Simon from this position. But he’s linked the fingers of his free hand with mine, and I can hear him casting, too.

 

Baz has his eyes closed, focusing on the spell, and quite possibly trying not be be sick. I have the sudden urge to cackle hysterically. But I shove it down because it would completely kill the moment. So instead, I close my eyes and concentrate on casting.

 

Simon has Baz wound so tightly that it doesn’t take long. Baz collapses against me, still casting, and I hold him close, as I feel rather than see Simon roll sideways and chuck something in the bin (condom, I hope).

 

Then Baz is rolling away and Simon is in his place above me. He’s got one hand clasped in a death grip with Baz, and that must be enough to keep the magic flowing between them. I still feel the electric buzz and searing heat that I realize is the flavor of their combined magic.

 

We all keep casting as Simon begins to move. He takes his other hand and moves it down between us to help me along. He kisses my nose, my eyelids, my forehead, my chin, my cheek. So gentle. So different from the way he kisses Baz. Which is good. I bruise easily.

 

Suddenly, it all becomes too much and I feel myself tip over the edge. Simon speeds up as I start to clench around him, and then he stiffens and collapses into me.

 

We stop casting and everything goes still. But only for moment, before Simon is rolling off to my other side and reaching across me for Baz. And then I’m being smothered beneath a pair of beautiful bodies, as I try to get my knees up and tilt my pelvis, like the books say you should.

 

Simon and Baz are kissing each other (passionately) above me and dropping kisses down onto me (sweetly and not on the lips).

 

Then exhaustion seems to hit them both and they flop down on either side of me, still holding hands across my stomach.

 

I sigh, close my eyes, and concentrate on germinating . . .

 

**Simon**

 

A bit later . . .

 

Baz rolls until he’s sitting up on the edge of the big bed. He sits there for a moment with his hands on his knees and his head hanging down. Then he lurches up, mutters something that sounds like “shower,” and shuffles off toward the bath.

 

I’ve recovered enough now to prop myself up on my elbows and look over at Agatha. She’s on her back with her knees up and her feet flat on the bed. And she’s bunched what looks like at least 3 pillows under her backside, so that they push her hips up at an uncomfortable-looking angle.

 

The room smells like sex and still buzzes with the magic of the conception spell we’ve been casting. I lay my hand on her cheek and kiss her forehead. “You OK, Agatha?” I ask.

 

She smiles and nods, pressing both hands to her stomach.

 

“Do you need anything? Glass of water . . . ?”

 

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” She gives me a fond smile.

 

“Then if you’re OK, I think I’d better go check on Baz . . . “

 

Agatha rolls her eyes and makes little shooing motions with her hand.

 

* * *

 

I stop outside the door to the bath and listen. It’s quiet, so I knock and then say, “Baz, it’s me. I’m coming in.”

 

Baz is sitting on the edge of the tub, looking dazed. I walk over and crouch down beside him, so I can look up into his lovely gray eyes. “You doing alright there, love?” I whisper.

 

Baz’s shoulders start to shake, and I think he might be about to cry. But then he lifts his eyes to mine, and I can see that he is laughing instead. So I start to giggle along with him. I’m still a bit drunk and the accumulated tension of _everything_ is finally starting to bubble over into a cascade of hysterical laughter. Baz slips down onto the floor beside me, and we fall into each other and hold on until the waves of laughter finally subside.

 

Once we have both calmed down a bit, Baz starts speaking, low and rasping, beside my ear. He’s hiding his face in the crook of my neck. I think he’s actually embarrassed. “Aleister Crowley, Simon. I just slept with a woman. I just slept with Agatha _bloody_ Wellbelove.”

 

“I know. I was right there.”

 

“And then you . . . right after. We both just . . . with _Agatha_. Crowley.”

 

“Yeah, I know. That was the plan, remember.”

 

“I just keep thinking, all those years at Watford. All those fights you and I had. Over Agatha. When you boil it down, it was for this. Over which one of us would get to _have_ Agatha. And now, after all this time, after everything that’s happened, we end up _here_. It’s as if no matter how much we try, we can’t break free of our fucking ‘destiny.’”

 

“Baz, stop. Destiny is a load of bollocks. You’ve said so yourself. Look. We’re alive. We’re together. We love each other. We’re not chained to a situation we can’t bear to live with. We can live our lives and be happy and be the people that _we_ want to be. And that has nothing to do with anybody’s bloody ‘destiny.’ But sometimes things just sort of 'fall into place' . . . just not in the way anyone expected them to. And maybe that’s OK.”

 

Baz rolls his eyes and gives me a weary, but slightly amused snort.

 

I grin and bump shoulders with him. “So, are we good?”

 

“Yeah, we’re good.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just by way of explanation, my shrink switched up my meds, and this is what popped out of my head as the norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors started to kick in.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for taking the time to click on this fic. The hits and kudos and comments mean a lot! ^_^


	4. The Morning After + Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> . . . where they all wake up with hangovers and have breakfast

**Chapter 4 The Morning After**

 

**Agatha**

 

I wake with a splitting headache and a pair of beautiful men in my bed. Merry Morgana, it wasn’t a dream.

 

The two of them are both still passed out. So I slip out of bed and move quietly to the kitchen, where I sit nursing a glass of Eno until I hear the first signs of stirring from the other room.

 

I need to set the right tone straight from the beginning, or this is never going to work in the long term . . . I start making breakfast.

 

Simon comes in first, bleary-eyed and clearly hungover. He stumbles over and pecks me on the cheek.

 

“Agatha, what are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like? I’m fixing you and Basil breakfast.”

 

“But you don’t have to do that . . . ”

 

“Not another word. My house. My rules. Now sit down and drink this while I get you some tea.” I plunk a glass of Eno down in front of him.

 

A moment later, Baz saunters in, looking much more put together than Simon, but still a bit green around the gills.

 

“Agatha, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Nesting,” I shoot back. “Now give us a kiss and go sit down while I fix breakfast.” I tilt my cheek at him, which he pecks dutifully. Then he goes and sits down next to Simon. As I turn back to the range, I see him grab the half-empty Eno glass from Simon and drink it down.

 

I’m doing this to establish the correct domestic routine. I need them to know that if they are in my house and it is morning, we are going to sit down and have breakfast together like civilized people. I want this to be second nature by the time there are children running around, so that we will mesh together as a cohesive family unit.

 

They sit obediently while I feed them tea with eggs and toast, and then I shoo them on their way.

 

It’s a promising start.

 

**Epilogue**

 

**Agatha**

 

The next text, I send to both of them: _Pee_ _stick says “yes.” You should take me to dinner. I’ll be ready at half seven._   

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for taking the time to click on this fic. The hits and kudos and comments mean a lot! ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Mugi says "eep" and scampers away!


End file.
